bowls, paintbrushes, an air compressor and a number of tins.
“That’s the artistic part of the business. The finishing touches to do justice to the animal.”
“Funny thing,” said Web, “thinking about doing justice to something you’ve killed.”
“I guess that separates folks like me from sons of bitches that kill and keep on walking,” Billy shot back.
“I guess so,” said Web.
Billy walked over to a deerskin that was drying on a large table. “You know what’s the first thing you cut off when you’re gutting a deer?” he asked looking directly at Web.
“What’s that?”
“Its penis.”
“Good to know,” said Web dryly.
“Deer die like people,” continued Billy. “With their eyes open. Glazing takes place almost immediately. If the eyes are closed or blinking, you better shoot ’em again.” He looked at Web again. “I suppose you run across that a lot in your line of work.”
“Sometimes that’s not an option with human beings.”
“I guess not, though I’d take any one of the animals I got on display here over the human scum you got to deal with.” He took a sip of his drink. “I think that’s one of the reasons I like this place so much,” said Billy. “Damn contradictions, since I seem to be a living breathing one myself. Born dirt poor, barely finished ninth grade, made a lot of money in the unglamorous business of hauling cigarettes and other junk up and down the highways of this fine country and married me a beautiful, intelligent young woman with a college degree. And now here I am, the master of an estate smack in the middle of fancy-ass Virginia hunt country stuffing animals. One lucky man. Makes me want to get drunk, so let’s go do something about that.”
He led them back and they rejoined Gwen. She gave Web a weak smile as if to say, I know and I’m sorry.
Bill went behind the bar and pointed at his wife. “Scotch, honey?” She nodded. “I’ll join you in another,” he said. “Boys? And don’t hand me that bullshit that you’re on duty. If you don’t drink with me, I’m throwing your butts out of here.”
“Beer, if you have it.”
“We have everything here, Web.”
Web made a mental note that the man said it like he damn well meant it.
“Same for me,” said Romano.
“I’ll have one too, Billy,” said Strait. He walked over and took a bottle of beer from his boss and then joined Web and Romano.
“I’m a lot more used to beer than I am fancy mixed drinks.”
“Country boy?” asked Romano.
“Yes, sir, I grew up at the foothills of the Blue Ridge on a horse farm,” said Strait. “But I wanted to see the world.” He rolled up his sleeve and showed them his Marine Corps insignia. “Well, I did, on Uncle Sam’s dime. Actually, I only saw a little slice of it called Southeast Asia, and it’s hard to enjoy something like that when people are shooting at you.”
“You don’t look old enough to have been in Vietnam,” commented Web.
Strait smiled broadly. “All my clean living, I guess.” He added, “Truth is, I got drafted right near the end, only eighteen years old and change. First year in the jungle, I just kept my head down and tried my best to keep it on my shoulders. Then I got my ass caught and spent three months as a POW. Damn Viet Cong were into some sick stuff, messing with your mind, trying to turn you traitor.”
“I didn’t know that about you, Strait,” said Billy.
“Well, it’s not something I put on my résumé.” He laughed. “But I finally escaped and an Army shrink helped me to straighten out myself. That and a lot of booze and other stuff I can’t mention,” he added, grinning. “Got discharged, came back to the States and pulled a little duty as a guard at a juvenile detention center. Now, let me tell you, some of the kids I was guarding, they’d make the damn Viet Cong look like a bunch of wimps. Then I got married, but my ex didn’t like my pay scale of six bucks an hour, so I got me a desk job for a while, but that just wasn’t me. Like I said, I grew up in the outdoors, around horses all my life. It’s in your blood.” He looked over at Billy. “It better be, because it ain’t in your bank account.”
They all laughed at that one, except Gwen. She looked annoyed that the cowpoke was even in her home, thought Web, who was watching her closely.
“So anyway,” Strait continued, “I went back to horses and my wife walked out on me and took my boy and girl.”
“You see them much?” asked Web.
“Used to, not anymore.” He grinned. “Thought my son would follow in his old man’s footsteps and be either a military grunt or maybe even get into the horses.” He slapped his thigh. “Hell, you know what?”
“What’s that?” asked Romano.
“Found out he was allergic to the damn things. Life sure is funny sometimes.”
As Web studied the man, it didn’t seem to him that Strait thought life was humorous at all. He had initially pegged Strait as a slow-witted fellow who did what he was told. He was going to have to re-think that.
“Then Billy come along, and now I’m helping him”—he glanced at Gwen—“and Ms. Canfield build their little empire right here.”
Billy raised his beer to the man. “And doing a fine job of it, Strait.”
On that, Web noted, Gwen looked away, and despite Billy’s words of praise it seemed that he was not all that enamored of his foreman. Web decided to change the flow of conversation.
“Lower levels are usually cold,” Web said to Billy. “Especially with all this stone. And yet it feels warmer down here than it did upstairs.”
“We have the best heat in the world here,” replied Billy, who worked the bar like he had been born to it. “Radiant steam. Gwen said she showed you around. Well, those three Weil McLain boilers you saw heat the water to two-twelve and turn it into steam, of course. The steam flows through the pipes and into the cast-iron Gurney radiators that are in each room in the house. Then the steam cools back to water, runs through the system again, is turned into steam once more and on it goes. And you have not only warmth, but a built-in humidifier.” He handed Web his beer. “A lot of the steam pipes run under this floor, that’s why it’s so nice down here. I love it. And this time of year, it can get to be eighty-five in the day and forty at night. But McLain boilers is why Gwen can go bare-armed down here and still feel nice and toasty, ain’t that right, honey?”
“Actually, I’ve felt hot all day.”
Web rubbed his hand against the bar. “Nice setup with this thing.”
“Dates from 1910,” said Billy. “The owner back then put a lot of work into the place. It needed it, though. Unfortunately, it needed a lot more by the time we got to it. Story of my life.” He carried the drinks over on a serving platter and handed them out. They all sat down.
“Gwen tells me you’ve got some promising yearlings.”
“Yeah, maybe a Triple Crown winner in there,” said Billy. “Now, that would be nice. Pay at least a month’s worth of bills on this damn place.”
Gwen and Web exchanged smiles at this comment.
“We can always hope,” said Gwen. “But being one step from the poorhouse all the time at least is exciting.”
“Well, we do okay here,” said Strait, looking at her.
Web thought the choice of pronouns interesting. He was starting to wonder who actually owned the place.
Billy took a pull on his scotch. “Yeah, this ain’t such a bad place. Even got fox hunting around here.”
Gwen looked repulsed. “That’s disgusting.”
“Well, this is fox-hunting country, and in Virginia you got to do like the snooty Virginians do.” Billy smiled at Web. “Actually, our damn neighbors can be kind of a pain in the ass. They got ticked at me because I wouldn’t let them ride across my land while they were chasing that damn fox. I told them they didn’t fox-hunt down Richmond way and it seemed like the deck was stacked against the little feller anyway and I’ve always tended to root for the underdog. Well, those pricks took me to court. And won. There were some old covenant in my chain of title that said fox hunting apparently runs with the land.”
Romano looked disgusted. “Now, that’s a bitch. Talk about your unfree country.”
“Well, they don’t come across East Winds anymore,” said Strait.
“Why’s that?” asked Web.
“Billy shot one of their dogs—excuse me, hounds.” He slapped his leg and laughed.
Billy was nodding as though remembering a pleasant memory. “He took after one of my horses. That particular horse was worth about three hundred thousand dollars. Damn hound dog’s a dime a dozen. So damn right I shot him.”
“Did they take you to court again?” asked Web.
“They did, and this time I kicked their ass.” He smiled, took another drink and looked at Web. “So did you enjoy the fifty-cent tour Gwen gave you?”
“She’d make a great tour guide, actually. I was interested in the farm being a stop on the Underground Railroad during the Civil War.”
Billy pointed to the gun cabinet. “And that stop’s right over there.”
Web looked at the gun cabinet and said, “I’m not getting it.” “Go ahead and show him, Billy,” said Strait.
Billy motioned for Web and Romano to follow him. He went over and pushed down on what Web figured must be a lever concealed in the cabinet’s frame. Web heard a click and the cabinet swung toward him, revealing a small opening.
“There’s no electricity or windows in there, just a couple of rough bunks, but when you’re running for your freedom, you can’t be too picky,” said Billy. He picked up a flashlight that was hanging on a wall peg and handed it to Web. “Have a look.”
Web took the flashlight, poked his head inside and swung the light around. He almost dropped the flashlight when the light caught on a man sitting there in a bentwood rocker. As his eyes adjusted to the poor light, he saw it was actually a mannequin dressed as a male slave, with a hat and muttonchop whiskers, the whites of its eyes in unsettling contrast to the painted black skin.
Billy laughed and said, “You’ve got some damn strong nerves. Most people scream.”
“Billy put that in there, not me, Web,” said Gwen quickly, with a trace of disgust in her voice.
“It’s one of my sick little jokes,” added Billy. “But hell, if you can’t laugh at life, what are you gonna laugh at?”
On that they finished their drinks and went in to dinner.
They didn’t eat in the formal dining room. As Billy explained it, the room was so big that when you wanted to talk to one another you had to scream to be heard and he was a little hard of hearing as it was. They ate in a small room off the kitchen. Gwen gave the blessing and made the sign of the cross, as did Romano. Strait, Web, and Billy just looked on.
Gwen had made a Caesar salad, sirloin tips, fresh asparagus in a cream sauce and what smelled and tasted like homemade rolls. Cherry pie and coffee finished off the meal, and Romano sat back, rubbing his flat, hard stomach.
“A lot better than MREs,” he said, referring to the U.S. military’s meals-ready-to-eat.
“Thanks, Gwen, it was great,” said Web.
“We used to entertain quite a bit in Richmond,” she said. “We don’t do a lot of that anymore.” She shot a quick glance at her husband as she said this.
“Lots of things we don’t do anymore,” said Billy Canfield. “But it was a fine meal and my toast to the chef.” He went over to the sideboard and brought back a decanter of brandy and four cut-crystal glasses. “Now, I’m partial to my Jim Beam, like any good southern gentleman, but a proper toast requires a proper libation.” He poured out the brandy and filled his glass with Beam, and they toasted Gwen.
She smiled and raised her glass to them. “Well, it’s nice to be so popular with so many men.”
As they took their leave, Web drew Billy aside.
“I just want to get the ground rules clear. Be sure to set the alarm when we leave, and set it every night before you go to bed. There are so many ways in and out of this place, I want you and Gwen to come and go the same way. That way you won’t inadvertently leave a door unlocked. If you’re thinking of going out, even if it’s just a stroll, you call us first and we go with you. If anything spooks you or Gwen, you call us. Nothing is too small, okay? Here’s my cell phone number. It’ll be on twenty-four hours a day. And I want you to strongly consider letting Romano and me stay in the house. If something goes down, seconds do count.”
Billy looked at the slip of paper with Web’s number on it. “Pris- oners in our own home, I guess it’s come to that. Those bastards.” He shook his head wearily.
“Those guns in your cabinet, they just for show or you use them in your hunting?”
“Most of them are shotguns. Couldn’t use them on game you want to mount because shotgun ammo ruins the skin and takes off heads. I keep my big-game weapons in a locked cabinet upstairs. I’ve also got me a twelve-gauge and a .357 Magnum too. Both loaded. They’re for two-legged sumbitches trespassing on my land. Gwen’s a damn fine shot too. Probably better’n me.”
“Good, just remember to shoot only the bad guys. Now, you got any travel plans coming up?”
“Just a shipment of horses we’re taking up to Kentucky in a few days. I’m going with Strait and some of the boys.”
“Talk to Bates, he may see it differently.”
“Listen to Web,” said Nemo, who walked over after overhearing their conversation. “Somebody’s looking to get to you, Billy. Stay put so the Feds can protect you.”
“Going soft on me, Nemo?” asked Billy.
“Hell no. Something happens to you, I’m out of a job.”
“Any visitors you expecting out of the ordinary?” Web asked. Billy shook his head. “Most of our friends in Richmond aren’t our friends anymore. Maybe it’s mostly our fault. We keep to ourselves here.”
“These neighbors of yours, at the Southern Belle, what do you know about them?”
“Only that they’re ruder than me.” He laughed. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know much about them. They don’t join in much local stuff, not that I do either. I’ve only seen what I guess was the foreman.”
“How about that chopper and their plane?”
Billy made a face. “That is damn aggravating. Scares the horses.”
“How often do you see the plane and the chopper go out?”
Billy considered this. “A lot.”
“What’s a lot? Nightly, weekly?”
“Not nightly, but more often than weekly.”
“Same direction each time or different?”
“Different.” He looked at Web warily. “What’re you thinking?” Web gave a tight smile. “I’m thinking we’ll just keep an eye on that airline next door.”
When Romano and Web got back to the carriage house, Web filled him in on the talk he had had with Billy.
“You think something’s going down on the property next door?” said Romano.
“No, I think something going’s up.”
“Well, that was an interesting evening. I gotta tell you, that hobby of Canfield’s is kind of spooky.”
“Yeah, it’s not exactly like building model planes. And what’s your take on Nemo Strait?”
“Seems like a regular enough fellow.”
“I was sort of surprised he was invited to the big house for dinner with the boss.”
“Well, look at where Billy came from. He’s probably more comfortable around people like Strait than a bunch of rich fat cats fox hunting.”
“You’re probably right. Gwen didn’t seem to care for him, though.” “She’s more of a lady. And he’s kind of crude.” He added with a smile, “Like me. I didn’t know she was Catholic.”
“Yeah, she’s got a little chapel in the woods where she goes to pray every day for her son, the one I let die.”
“You didn’t let the kid die, Web. Hell, if the negotiators had let you guys do your thing from the get-go, the boy probably would be alive.”
“Look, Paulie, I got an appointment tonight, so you’re going to have to go it alone. I don’t have to leave for a while, so you can get some shut-eye. Bates is keeping agents at the rear and front gates for the next couple of days, though, so you’re not really all by your lonesome.”
“Appointment, what kind of appointment?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”